Authors Note: Alright, time for my first story! And what better place to start than Hetalia?

Anyway, I'd like to point out this isn't really an AU, so much as a Twenty Minutes into the Future thing.

Chapter updates might be kinda sporadic, but bear with me. Also, If anyone would like to help me out with all the Icelandic stuff, I would greatly appreciate it.

In the mean time, I hope you enjoy what I have so far!

-Erin

Life was hard. Life was always hard. This was nothing new for Emil. He was used to it. Living in a small flat in the city of Reykjavik, scraping by with several odd jobs and a dream. This is how it always was, and he didn't complain.

Emil Steinsson was a simple young man, living in a small studio apartment in the city of Reykjavik. His days were spent working long hours for low pay at everything from a coffee-shop, to a delivery company, to a fast-food restaurant; and some other one-time positions. His nights were spent clicking away at a small, outdated, barely functioning laptop in hopes of one day becoming a famous author. At the moment, it was well after sundown in his tiny studio apartment. He was sitting on the floor, since he had no chair, or desk. The only furniture was a small table from a junkyard and futon from a friend, along with some random applainces. As he sat on the floor, Emil's head was crained towards the ceiling, and a look of utter frustration contorted his face. He had writers block. It was just the point for the main character in his epic fantasy work-in-project to have his earth-shaking revelation, and he had no idea how to lead up to it. After a long moment, He snarled in aggravation, brought his head down, and snapped the laptop closed. Finally admitting defeat, he stood up and stretched before heading towards the tiny kitchenette near the front. He scrounged around half-heartedly, but changed his mind, realizing boredom snaking was a bad idea with his perilous finances. Discouraged, he flopped on the futon. He looked to an old analogue clock ticking on the wall. It was almost midnight. Usually he didn't go to sleep until 1 to 2 in the morning. Maybe he'd do something different…

With a sigh, Emil slipped his pants and socks off, and banished them to the dirty clothes corner, with all the other garments waiting to be washed at the end of the week. He hauled himself to the sink in the tiny half bath of the main room, and brushed his teeth. As he did so, he looked up to the mirror in front of him. He scowled at the haggard being. before him. Emil was young, only about 20 or so, with ash-blonde hair that seemed permanently bed-headed, and strange blue eyes that were almost violet. He also had dark patches beneath his eyes, and a general worn air; all side-effects of his hard life-style. Once he deemed himself done, he spat into the sink, turned off the lights, and returned to the futon. There, he cocooned himself in the heavy blankets. He couldn't afford a heating bill. In any situation, it didn't take long for him to fall into deep sleep, and he was off to dreamland within the next half-an-hour.

It was cold. Wind howled in the trees behind him. Waves crashed on the rocks below him. He was staring out a great ocean. The Atlantic. His stretch of it anyway. He wasn't chilled or scared. He had someone besides him. He looked up -he was no more than a child. There stood a taller man, with golden hair and old style clothes. The man's face was indistinguishable, like he was seeing it through water. He smiled, happy to see the man. The man smiled back, and tousled his hair. The hand was warm and familiar, and he leaned into it. The man said something, but he couldn't make it out. It sounded like an echo from far away. Suddenly, the image of the man seemed to grow far away. He cried out, and tried to run towards it. The image only seemed to move farther and farther. He screamed, growing scared. He was running as fast as he could. 'Don't go! Please don't go!'

Emil jolted awake. Pale dawn filtered through the window above him. The morning was bitterly cold, and he shivered violently. But he got up anyway. The clock read 5 in the morning. He had to get ready for his first job at 6. He groaned, and dragged himself back to the half-bath. There he started up the shower, and began the monotonous morning ritual of getting ready for the day

By the time Emil was done the shower had warmed up, and he stepped inside. He let the water run over his skin for a long moment, spacing out in one of the few little luxuries he had. He also went over the dream. That made him scowl. It was another of several dreams like that. All with that one man, smiling and tousling his hair; and all at different times, judging by the clothes this stranger wore. Ranging from the 8th and 9th centuries, to the 2010's. Every time with the man seeming to disappear into the distance, and always with those words; 'Don't go! Please don't go!'. Emil shook the memory away, and snapped out of his revelry in the warm water. He had a life to get ready for, one that didn't wait for weird dreams or long, hot showers.

At a quarter to six, Emil was out the door and onto the city streets. The year may have been 2023, but Reykjavik looked almost abandoned. Buildings were neglected, streets worn. It was a sorry site.

It was a pretty good summation of the state rest of the nation, too.

In 2015, the great fissure Lakagígar - more commonly known as Laki - re-opened in a spectacular, and horrific repeat of its eruption of 1783. The global economy was devastated as air traffic across the northern hemisphere ground to a halt, and it took years to recover. But that was nothing compared to what happened to Iceland itself. More than half the population evacuated to escape the volcano, and those that remained were almost starved out by the toxic fog that enveloped the land. The government and economy collapsed, and the country gave up its independence. Iceland went under the sovereignty of the Kingdom of Norway.

The eruption may have been over now, and the fog had cleared, but the damage was done. Half a decade later, people were just now starting to return to their homeland, but it was barely a trickle. Recovery was a far-off dream for the Icelanders, both home and abroad.

None of this was of no real concern to Emil, however. He too was an Icelander, and would like to see his country back on its feet, but he had to be practical. His only hope right now was to make it from week to week, and maybe, one day, make it as an author.

Emil's musings on the state of the nation had distracted him, and before he knew it, he was at the coffee-shop for his morning shift. He knocked on the glass door, and a woman looked up from inside. She smiled broadly, and came to open the door.

"Hae Emil~" she breathed cheerfully as the door swung open. Emil smiled back at her.

"Hae Fríða," Emil greeted as he stepped inside. Fríða was a bubbly brunette in her 20s, a little older than Emil, with happy blue eyes and light freckles. Her smile was bright and always at the ready, and customers loved her for it. It wasn't even any effort for her; she just loved people. Fríða had gotten there earlier, and was already getting ready for the morning rush.

"I heard there was a bunch of tourists recently, so get ready," she chirped. Emil smiled agin and nodded. More people meant more tips, so she was extra cheery today. He slipped into the bathroom and changed into his work shirt, before helping Fríða with setting up.

The shift was just as Fríða had predicted, with more people than usual, and most of them foreigners. It was good to see; more tourism meant more money, and Emil had some record tips (most of the tourists thought they needed to, and he didn't bother correcting them). He played with the thought of buying something nice for himself with the extra cash. It was quickly filed into the back of his mind as he reached his next shift at a delivery place. This one wasn't quite as nice as the coffee-shop, but it payed better, so he did the work. The afternoon was some big international fast-food chain. It was soulless, but he worked hard, and it was over soon enough.

It was approaching evening as he clocked out of that job and headed towards the last one of the day. It was an evening shift at a small used bookstore in downtown Reykjavik. "Bjarni's books," it was called. The owner, Bjarni, was a kind soul, and had taken Emil under his wing; giving him a job, and even helping him get an apartment. He reached the store, a small nook of a building with a handmade sign over the door, and entered with the tingling of the bell on the door. A man with deep red hair and a thick beard looked up from where he was stoking books at the sound. He saw Emil standing in the door, and a broad white smile lit his face.

"Emil!" he greeted, standing up, to meet the younger man. Bjarni Björnsson was a mountain of a person, tall and broad. He strode over to Emil and clapped him on the shoulder. "It's good to see you. How was your day?"

"Good' had a bunch of tourists at the coffee shop, so I made some nice tips," Emil replied, buckling ever so slightly beneath the hand on his back. Bjarni nodded.

"Good, good. Well, got some new books in that need stocking, and the windows need cleaning as always, so your day's not done yet," he told Emil with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Emil chuckled.

"I wouldn't have thought so," he replied. Bjarni grinned again, and gave Emil another clap on the back.

"I'll be at the front counter if you need anything. Now, off to work,"

Emil nodded again and headed to the back room. He decided to start with the windows in order to get the hardest work done first. He grabbed some cleaner and a roll of paper towels, and headed back to the front of the shop. The shop floor itself was small, with books crammed on ceiling height shelves that were secured at the top and bottom in case of an earthquake. It was like tiny labyrinth, and Emil loved it. Bjarni's shop specialized in fantasy, Emils personal favorite. During off times, he could just grab a small stack and get lost in the shelves and the stories. There was also a big window seat at the front that was also a reading prime spot. It looked out onto a picturesque street, and had mounds of soft pillows to lounge on. This window also accumulated dirt and smudges faster than could be wiped off, so Emil always had to work hard to get it clear again.

As he wiped away the day's mess, Emil looked out onto the street. Dusk was falling, but people were still out and about, milling too-and-fro. One trio on the other side of the street caught his attention.

They were three men. The first was tall, with blond hair cut in a straight line across his face and square framed glasses. He had a laptop case and a Bluetooth in his ear. Definitely the technical type. The second was shorter, with wavy brown shoulder length hair and a generally concerned air to him, as if he was always worried about something. The third wasn't so much a man as a child, much shorter than the other two with cropped blond hair. Poor kid looked like he was about to have a heart attack he was so nervous.

Emil dropped the cleaning supplies in his hands. Bjarni looked up, sensing something wrong.

A feeling of lightheadedness suddenly washed over Emil. He wavered, still staring at the trio as they walked down the street. They all seemed so familiar. So familiar…

Emil cried out in pain, clutching his head and crumpling off the seat and to the floor. It felt like his head was being split in two. It was sheer agony. Bjarni ran over and scooped him up. He was calling for him as loud as he could. But Emil couldn't hear it. All he felt was the pain in his skull. He managed to open his eye just a bit and stared at Bjarni's face and the ceiling beyond. Everything seemed to spin, and Emil felt himself begin to fall, straight into darkness.